


there's a reflection i want you to see

by anaesthetist



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Frottage, Las Vegas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-08 01:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaesthetist/pseuds/anaesthetist
Summary: Luke looks at him from over his shoulder. He looks a little confused for a second, like Brian isn’t the one he’s expecting to be lying there next to him, but then he smiles, one dimple sinking in his cheek. Without another word, he throws back the covers and slides out of bed, the legs of his boxers almost completely hidden by the shirt that hangs from his shoulders. Brian stares a little longer than necessary, memories of that time in Bali his cock got a little confused watching Luke climb out of a pool washing over him like a dam’s been burst in his mind.He needs to go, he thinks, eyes darting around the room. Though massive, it suddenly feels too small, too enclosed. “I’ll see you later, then,” he stumbles out awkwardly, fumbling as he gets out of bed, head swimming from the abruptness of his action.(or, how Luke almost kills Brian in Las Vegas.)





	1. metaphorical death

**Author's Note:**

> y'all knew i would do this. 
> 
> title from the fog by biffy clyro because alba gu bràth amirite. 
> 
> second part should be u in the next couple of days. :)

For a good solid minute, Brian doesn’t remember anything that happened the night before.

He awakens in an unfamiliar room, his nose pressing into someone’s shoulder blade. There’s a weird, uncomfortable layer of dry sweat covering his body, and it’s only when he shifts slightly to free the arm that’s trapped beneath him that he realises that he’s fully clothed, leather jacket and all. He blinks a few times, eyes and head aching from dehydration, and jerks his head back. It doesn’t take much deducing to know that it’s Luke he’s fallen asleep beside, the broad expanse of his back unmistakable and verging on goddamn ridiculous. Luke is sort of curling away from him, his legs tucked up tightly and the bare soles of his feet brushing against Brian’s knees through his jeans. He’s breathing quietly and sleeping soundly, so Brian doesn’t think much before slipping and arm over his waist and settling back down.

It’s only as he lies there, eyes closed but not really sleeping, that the events of last night begin to filter back to him. He remembers going out for dinner and then going to a show afterwards, the bass thrumming below his feet and pulsing in his brain. He remembers the drinking starting in the club and then back in the suite, though no amount of alcohol would’ve made Jesse and Ashton’s rendition of _It’s All Coming Back to Me Now_ palatable. He vaguely remembers Jesse, his roommate for the trip, threatening to be sick by the time they retired to their room, and promptly legged it to Luke’s.

Brian’s eyes snap open at the memory. Bracing himself for a burst of agony through his temple, he pushes himself up to look down at Luke. He’s still asleep, hair falling into his face and obscuring his profile. Cutting through the scorching pain of his hangover, a little voice in the back of Brian’s mind tells him to get up and go back to his own bed. Something stops him, however, paralyzing him in place above Luke, staring down at him like he needs to be watching over him.

Then Luke begins to stir.

Brian pulls away sharply, letting himself fall back against the bed. He turns his face into the mattress, the pillow pushed up and folded awkwardly above him, and pretends to sleep. He doesn’t think Luke noticed him looking, but he doesn’t want to chance it.

Luke grumbles as he wakes, and Brian can feel him begin to roll onto his back before he realises Brian’s body is stopping him.

“Brian?” he croaks, voice gravelly and slow from sleep.

Brian hums in response, slipping his arm back over Luke’s waist and holding it to his own chest as Luke begins to move. He sort of flips over in one movement, stretching out his legs so that his knees accidentally bump against Brian’s somewhere below the sheets. As he settles into his new position, he nuzzles into the pillow beneath his cheek. He’s kind of cute, Brian thinks, then remembers they can pass for the same person and still doesn’t take the thought back.

“Fuck,” he says and squinches his eyes shut for a moment. He doesn’t look nearly as bad as Brian feels, but that might just be the seven years he’s got on him. “What the fuck happened?”

“I think we partied with the Chainsmokers,” Brian says, turning his face to muffle a quiet laugh in the bedsheet. He regrets it—both the laughing and the hanging out with the Chainsmokers, his reputation effectively ruined—a pulsing pain beginning behind his eyes and working its way back. He groans, burying his face in deeper. “What time is it?”

Beneath him, the mattress moves and dips with Luke as he stretches over Brian to grab his phone from the nightstand. Luke is still clumsy and disorientated, body bashing into Brian’s as he tries not to lose his balance before flopping down again, this time onto his back. He rubs his eyes as his phone lights up in front of him, squinting briefly into the brightness before letting his phone fall onto his chest with a thud.

“Almost half one,” he says, rolling his head towards Brian.

Brian rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck,” he breathes, lacking anything more eloquent this close to his metaphorical death.

“We can still make lunch,” Luke says, and if Brian didn’t know him any better, he’d think he was trying to make him gag. He makes a satisfied little sound as he lifts his back off the bed and stretches out, then yelps as his phone threatens to slip from his chest, slapping a hand over it to keep it in place. Brian scoffs out a laugh. “Do you want to head down?”

Brian wants to fucking die where he’s lying. “Fuck no, man. I’m gonna shower and check if Jesse’s still alive.” In that order, probably.

Luke smiles, then scrunches up his little nose, skin around his eyes crinkling. “You do smell pretty bad.”

Mouth falling open in fake outrage, Brian reaches over and pinches some of the chest hair peeking out from the shirt Luke’s still wearing. He howls in dramatic agony, scrambling to get hold of Brian’s wrist and wrench his hand away. Brian goes weak with laughter as Luke sits up, sulking and rubbing at his chest, shoulders hunched over as he continues to feel sorry for himself.

“I do smell bad,” Brian says, wrinkling his own nose as he lifts an arm, leather still sticky and rubbery against his skin.

Luke looks at him from over his shoulder. He looks a little confused for a second, like Brian isn’t the one he’s expecting to be lying there next to him, but then he smiles, one dimple sinking in his cheek. Without another word, he throws back the covers and slides out of bed, the legs of his boxers almost completely hidden by the shirt that hangs from his shoulders. Brian stares a little longer than necessary, memories of that time in Bali his cock got a little confused watching Luke climb out of a pool washing over him like a dam’s been burst in his mind.

He needs to go, he thinks, eyes darting around the room. Though massive, it suddenly feels too small, too enclosed. “I’ll see you later, then,” he stumbles out awkwardly, fumbling as he gets out of bed, head swimming from the abruptness of his action.

Luke twists around just in time to watch Brian stagger out of the door. He falls into Mitchy in his haste, the two of them barely managing to stay on their feet as they grapple onto each other for support. Somewhere among Mitchy’s curses is the question Brian doesn’t really feel like answering: what the fuck were you doing in there? He quickly makes up some bullshit about asking the birthday boy if he wanted to get lunch, but there’s something about the way Mitchy stares back at him that makes Brian feel like he knows that he’s lying.

Brian kicks himself as he leaves Mitchy to burst in on Luke, knowing he’ll probably have to show his face at lunch now. He mumps and moans as he shoves open the door to his own room, accidentally letting in a burst of light that has Jesse hissing and burning like a vampire in sunlight. At least he’s not the one in the worst shape, he thinks, dropping down face first onto the bed.

*

The second time he wakes up that day, Brian feels a little better.

He rolls over onto his back to stare at the ceiling, the soft, cushiony bedsheets hugging him from behind. It’s much lighter in the hotel room now, the curtains drawn back a little more to let the light in. Turning his head, Brian can’t find Jesse on the other bed, so assumes he’s made it out of the room alive. Sitting up, he ignores the awkward press of his hard dick in his jeans, but that doesn’t stop an uncomfortable guilt begin to crawl over his skin when he remembers the dream he’s just woken up from.

He takes care of it in the shower, hand slipping as he braces himself against the tiles. He’s past the point of trying to get Luke’s face out of his head as he works a wet hand around his cock, reasoning that it’ll be over much quicker if he gives himself what he wants—and _then_ he can get to hating himself for it. It’s still as weirdly satisfying as it always is, but the sensation lasts much less and the guilt simmering hot in his throat doesn’t give him much time before it starts bubbling over and making him press his knuckles hard into his eyes.

He finds almost everyone down in the lounge are when he’s done. They’re all sitting around a couch, looking at something Calum is showing them in a magazine. Brian makes accidental, awkward eye-contact with Luke as he searches out a bottle of water, his body curled up tight on the couch, sitting like only his pride is keeping him from climbing right into Calum’s lap. It only last for a brief second, because whatever Calum is reading seems like the most engrossing thing on the planet, and Brian soon finds Luke’s not looking at him anymore.

Despite his unease, Brian wants in.

Thankfully, Ashton’s nosiness exposes itself before his own can, loudly asking, “What are we looking at?” as he wedges himself between Mitchy and Michael to hang over Calum’s shoulder.

As it turns out, it’s nothing actually that interesting, but Calum’s commentary is so perfectly witty that Brian finds himself as equally entranced as everyone else, hovering by Mitchy’s shoulder to get in on the action. When Calum is done, they disperse, the girls talking about getting ready for going out—they’re going to see Third Eye Blind, and Brian won’t deny that he’s excited to see them again—and the boys lingering around a little longer, Ashton aside, who asks someone to come with him to buy more booze for tonight. Unsurprisingly it’s Calum that volunteers to go with him, freeing up a space on the couch that Michael falls into easily.

"Do you want to go in the pool?" Michael asks, turning his thumb in the general direction of the outside pool.

Half of them grumble, half of them say yes, so Brian watches as Luke, Michael and Jon go off to get changed for the pool. Personally, he doesn’t think he could be bothered having another shower before going out, so he sits on the couch instead, tucking himself into Mitchy’s side as he and Jesse fight over what to watch on TV.

He only sits up again when he hears the noise from out by the pool rise, Jon’s booming laugher masking the ruckus Michael and Luke are making as they wrestle in the pool. Brian really doesn’t mean it, but he can’t help but be drawn to Luke, his hair soaking and golden in the late afternoon sunshine, his pale skin practically glowing. Shutting his eyes briefly, Brian imagines the freckles breaking out across Luke’s shoulders, clustering together like tiny stars on his skin.

“Fuck,” he says aloud, quickly turning his head away when Jesse and Mitchy stare at him curiously.

“You okay, bro?” Mitchy asks, landing a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Is he alright? Probably not. Not when all he can think about his dragging down the wet shorts currently clinging to Luke’s ass and sucking his dick. “Yeah, man, just still a little fucked from last night,” he says instead, and it’s not like it’s a total lie. Even if it is, Mitchy seems satisfied, but Jesse keeps an eye on him, probably—but probably not—aware that he didn’t sleep in his own bed last night.

*

Luke is seventeen years old when Brian first meets him, standing timidly with that awkward in-turn of his feet and one of his ankles rolled. They’re backstage at the House of Blues, and their manager had mentioned earlier about meeting some kids in a band—5 Seconds of Summer, Josh reminds him—that’ve been working with John Feldman on an album out in LA. Brian’s happy to meet them, if not a little eager to get it over with to continue a long-running drinking competition he’s got with Jess.

When Ashton introduces them, clearly the de facto leader of conversation, Brian doesn’t think much of him. He’s got that bland, pretty boy looked masked in black clothes and acne, his shoes scuffing the floor as he hangs back nervously behind the other boys. _He’s_ the frontman, he remembers thinking as he shakes his hand and tries to find the sincerity in his voice when the kid tells him how much he loves their new album. He thanks him, and they go their separate ways, all of them too young to attend the after party.

Luke still stands weirdly, his feet pointing inwards when he’s on stage and when he’s just standing there, that vacant, gormless look in his eyes. The black jeans have stayed, too, but the lip ring has gone, and so too has the wristbands and the quiff and the scruffy vans. In their places are flashy rings on his fingers, a wild mess of curls and the most ridiculous sparkly boots Brian has ever seen.

“What’s wrong with them?” Luke asks, catching him unaware.

“They’re fucking sparkly,” isn’t a very just argument, but it’s the one Brian gives, his gaze flicking between Luke’s boots and his face. They’ve already had a drink or two each and Brian can feel the hinges already beginning to come off his filter, his tongue beginning to loosen.

“Ladies, ladies, don’t fight,” Sierra calls from over the top of her drink.

They’ve not long gotten back from the gig, all still a little sweaty and worn-out. Luke’s shirt is unbuttoned lower than usual, his chest and the top of his little pouching stomach just showing and his sweat-damp hair slicked back behind his ears. Still a little feeble from the night before, Brian hasn’t gone as hard, and he’s not planning to despite the copious amount of alcohol that’s laid out before him. 

Luke has different plans for him, though, challenging him to some sort of drinking contest in a bid to protect the honour of his boots, or something equally as dumb and Luke-like. Brian accepts purely because he finds Luke so ridiculously endearing, and not because everyone keeps saying he has to do what the birthday boy tells him to. Maybe not when it comes to drinking, the sordid part of his brain whispers as he picks up a shot glance filled with some fruity smelling liqueur that Ashton has deemed suitable for their game.

At least it’s not vodka, he thinks as he listens intently to the jubilant countdown chorusing around him and drinks when they reach zero.

“Had enough?” Luke goads after their fourth round and, yeah, Brian thinks he prefers that shy kid he met years ago to this asshole. “We can stop,” he says, swirling the liquid around in his glass, propped up on the counter by his elbow.

Almost everyone has left them to their silly game, sitting down and enjoying themselves like actual adults. Only Mitchy is still sitting by the counter, but he’s more interested in the game of strip poker Calum is suggesting across the room—something Brian will definitely not be partaking in. Likewise, Luke’s far too invested in protecting the integrity of his shoes to take them off.

“Fuck you, Hemmings,” he says and downs the drink before Luke, face twisting as he accidentally swallows it down the wrong way. He chokes and splutters, but holds up his hands to show that he’s alright, not that anyone comes to his aid—those assholes. “Christ Almighty.”

Then he feels Luke’s body against his, running hot on alcohol and tenderly rubbing at his back despite the usual maladroit ways of his inebriated self. Brian shuts his eyes, feeling the warmth of Luke’s palm sink into his back through his t-shirt, his hand slipping up the back of his jacket. Despite his touch, Luke is laughing, high-pitched and giggly at Brian’s misfortune, the hum of it passing through his body and into Brian’s. Brian looks up, locking watery eyes with Luke and suddenly he’s all too hot, his chest all too tight.

He licks his bottom lip. “I think I’m gonna—I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he says, taking a step away from Luke and bumping into the counter.

Luke’s glee turns to muted disappointment, his brows drawing together sadly. “Aw, what?” he says, voice high and whiny. “But it’s not that late. We don’t need to do shots. Please stay up,” he says, tugging a little on the sleeve of Brian’s jacket like a child might tug on their mother’s skirt. “C’mon, Brian, _please_?”

“What happened to making it to the end?” Jesse shouts from across the room, and suddenly Brian is very aware of everyone looking at him. He doesn’t pay them much attention, because the only pair of eyes that matter are the ones closest to him, big and blue and silently pleading for him to stay.

He can’t, so he pulls his arm away from Luke with a quiet apology, leaving him hovering in rejection as he quickly makes his way back to his room. He doesn’t look back the entire time, doesn’t think he could stand the sight of disappointment on Luke’s face.


	2. metaphorical highway

For a long moment after he hears a knocking at his door, Brian contemplates ignoring it. He’s not long settled into bed after a cold, sobering shower, his body completely cocooned in the warm bedsheets as he texts one of the promoters of Emo Nite that he’s still good to DJ a set on Tuesday night. He’s finished and sent a text by the time the knocking starts again, this time accompanied by a familiar, painfully whiny voice saying his name.

Brian sighs, throws back the covers and gets up to shuffle to the door.

When he opens the door, Luke almost falls right into him like he’s been leaning up against it. He looks much worse for wear than he’d done just half an hour ago, an odd grey tint darkening his features and his boots gone. Brian’s about to ask him what he wants, but then he looks down at him with that sad, lost look in his eyes and Brian can’t help it. He stands back to let him inside.

“I’m sorry,” he says, just to get it out the way, but Luke doesn’t seem too bothered by his apology, half-heartedly shrugging his shoulders as he makes his way over to Brian’s bed and collapses down on it face-first.

Brian hovers for a moment while Luke just lays there, unmoving, his head not even reaching the pillow. His legs dangle over the edge from his knees, but his body still takes up an obscene amount of space, leaving Brian to work out where he fits in. He takes a few cautious steps forward, approaching Luke as though he were a wounded animal until he’s stood on the side of the bed with marginally more space left. Luke looks even broader from this angle, seemingly no end to his body as he lies there, breathing heavily into the sheets.

“Luke,” Brian begins, climbing onto the bed knees first. He stays kneeling before deciding to lie down, curling up so that his knees brush against the hand that’s rested limply by Luke’s side. “Are you alright?”

Luke stays completely still—so still that Brian thinks he might’ve fallen asleep. He hasn’t though, and soon Luke is pushing himself up slightly to turn himself away from Brian. Brian’s heart sinks for a moment before Luke glances over his shoulder and beckons him closer with a gentle jerk of his head. Almost too quickly, Brian scoots forward and slings and arm over Luke’s waist, holding him securely to his chest. Not knowing what else to do, Brian rests his face in Luke’s curls, breathing in the damp smell of sweat from the back of his neck.

“Are we—” Luke stops. “Are we alright?” Luke asks, voice loud and unrestrained. “’Cause, y’know, this morning you were a bit weird with me. I’m sorry if I’ve—if I’ve done something.”

Brian panics, because he’d thought he’d gotten away with it. He flexes his fingers over Luke’s stomach, accidentally catching them in the open dip of Luke’s shirt. Blindly, he moves them over the hem, looking for a button or hole to distract him but finding nothing. Instead, he slips his hand completely down Luke’s shirt, feeling his tummy rise with every inhale, his skin burning up under his palm.

“You didn’t.” Brian chokes a little on his words, mouth moving against the collar of Luke’s shirt. If he presses his lips down hard enough, he can feel the rough outline of Luke’s chain somewhere beneath the fabric.

“That’s good,” Luke says, shifting around a little. Brian’s eyes flit down to where his crotch is almost pressing up against Luke’s ass, and shifts backwards, body at a weird angle to Luke’s. Luke seems to notice and follows him back. “I can’t lose more friends.”

That’s not going to be on you, Brian thinks, willing himself not to go hard. It’s difficult not to, being this close, being this unguarded as Luke continues to press his hips back. It’s almost like—like he wants—

All at once, Brian feels the warmth of Luke’s hand cover his open, resting on top of it for a moment before encouraging it down. Brian feels the muscles in his shoulder tighten as his fingertips press against the top of Luke’s jeans, harsh to the touch.

“Luke,” Brian says softly, skimming his fingers over the button of Luke’s jeans.

Luke shudders up against Brian, then he’s quiet. A second later he begins to move, flipping around to face Brian much like he’d done this morning. This time he’s much closer, the smell of alcohol on his breath much more profound, much less putrid. Brian imagines the liquor will taste just as sickly sweet from Luke’s lips as it had done from the glass. He thinks about testing his theory, and it wouldn’t take much; he could even put it down to an accident if it came to it, their mouths mere inches apart.

Brian looks up from Luke’s lips to his eyes, finds them staring right back at him.

This close, he sees it. He sees how much they look similar. Not quite like twins like some say, but close enough to fool almost every bouncer in Los Angeles for the past few years. Brian’s stomach fills with the heat of the thought, and slowly it stirs his dick into life, too.

Clumsily Luke lifts a hand to Brian’s cheek, the metal of his rings almost icy in contrast to his skin. Brian shivers, lashes fluttering camera shutter fast. “Please,” Luke says, and it sounds far off and weird, like it might just be coming from the back of Brian’s mind, but then Luke’s thumb catches the wet inside edge of his bottom lip and Brian knows. He knows it’s real. “Please stay.”

“Okay.” It comes out as more as a breath than a word, but it’s enough. With it, Brian slips his hand back to Luke’s stomach and begins to undo the last of the buttons that are keeping Luke’s shirt from falling open. When it does, Luke sits up and takes off his shirt in a haste, then drops back down to kick his jeans off his long legs. Through it all, Brian doesn’t stop looking at Luke’s face. Luke doesn’t take his eyes off Brian’s either. Without it needing to be said, they’re both getting off to the idea of the same thing. “Come here.”

Luke is easy, pliant, so when Brian tells him to come here, he does, climbing over his body and laying himself down like a blanket. Brian swallows as Luke stops, his body so much bigger than anyone he’s ever had over him like this, the press of his ribcage so much sharper. He reaches his hands up, running them skittishly down and up Luke’s body from his ribs to his hips, but finding more purpose, more confidence when he notices his skin begin to break out in goose bumps.

“Brian,” Luke says, “is this—?” Is this okay, he means to ask, but his neck seems to weaken unexpectedly, his face dropping down into the crook of Brian’s neck. Once there, he breathes quick and shallow, like he’s been trying to all this time and just suddenly remembered how. 

Brian only hums in response, unable to get his mouth open and say something definitive. In a way, this isn’t okay. They’re going to regret this in the morning, and Brian’s going to feel like shit and Luke’s going to hate him. He’s going to hate him and they’re never going to speak again, because this is weird and it’s not like Luke really needs Brian anymore. In this moment, however, it’s okay.

“You’re so hot,” Brian says, because finally it seems safe enough to say it and mean it. “God, I’ve wanted to—” Brian moves his hands below Luke’s boxers and to his ass, spreading his fingers across his cheeks and digging them in. Luke’s ass is soft, just as pliable as him. Against his neck, Luke makes a small sound in his throat and presses his hips down against Brian, letting him feel the half-hard line of his dick against the top of his thigh. “Jesus, Luke.”

Then Luke starts to rock down against him.

“Fuck,” Brian whispers, one hand flying up into Luke’s hair. He twists his fingers in it, digging his nails into Luke’s scalp to save face. He tilts his head back, eyes on the ceiling, and wonders if Luke’s done this before or if he’s just good at moving his hips like this. He can imagine Luke with boys, so desperate for the attention that he’ll let anyone touch and fuck him. He wonders if he made the same, needy noises against them like he’s doing to him, or maybe that’s only reserved for when he’s getting off to the thought of himself. “You love it, don’t you?” Brian says. It doesn’t come out as calm as he would’ve liked, but it does the trick on Luke. “So fucking in love with yourself you can barely hold it together.”

Luke lifts his head up, looks right at Brian. Whatever Brian’s expecting him to say, it’s not, “You named your band after yourself, you fucking narcissist,” and then he laughs, whole face scrunching. Brian laughs too, because he’s not wrong.

Brian’s just projecting. He’s pretty in love with himself, too, he’s just not as easy as Luke.

Before he can even register it happening, Luke’s climbing off him backwards and sitting back in the space between Brian’s legs. From here, Brian can see the bulge in Luke’s boxers, and he laughs again because even their dicks sit to the same side. His laugh catches Luke off guard and Brian’s stomach almost drops when Luke takes a cautious look down at himself, searching for something Brian might be making fun of in his head. Brian has a hard time explaining, but Luke brightens the moment he realises, not even pausing before awkwardly getting out of his boxers and peeling Brian’s down too.

Brian watches his own dick wobble back against his stomach, watches Luke’s slide up against it as he sits forward on Brian’s thighs, trapping him beneath him. His eyes quickly move up to find Luke’s face, twisting up in concentration as he gathers spit in his mouth and lets it slowly drop from his lips, hitting his own dick and then slowly dripping down onto Brian’s. Brian’s stomach quivers, so turned on that he doesn’t know what to do but reach around Luke, grab his ass again and encourage him to start moving like before.

 “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Move, Luke, come on.” He sounds done and they’ve barely done anything yet.

Luke’s eyes flit between Brian’s face and their dicks. “Okay,” Luke says quietly, a reassuring prompt to himself.  

Luke wraps his fingers around both their cocks and gives them a gentle tug, doing his best to smear his spit around. Slow blurts of precome join the mess as he moves his hand a little faster, fucking up into his own hand and moaning at the feeling of Brian’s cock dragging against his skin and his fingers flexing against his ass. A weird tingly feeling builds at the back of his neck as he moves, so he moves his free hand to palm at the damp nape of his neck, accidentally pulling his necklace tight across the front of his throat, the pain pulling him out of a momentary haze.

Beneath him, Brian is restless and fucking upwards into his hand too, his hips stabbing the air in sharp, senseless motions. “You gonna come, Luke?” Brian asks, meaning to taunt, but coming out breathless. “Gonna come for me?”

Luke shuts his eyes in childish resistance, even shaking his head petulantly as he shoots off over Brian’s stomach and his hand, come hot and thick as it dribbles down onto Brian’s dick. He keeps his hand moving over his own dick, letting Brian’s go to angle the head down at it, making sure to smear the rest of it on Brian and look him right in the eye as he does it.

He thinks he’s won whatever little game he’s got going on in his head, and Brian thinks that’s cute.

Brian lets go of Luke’s ass. “Turn around,” he says softly.

Luke’s shoulders are heaving with his chest, cock resting limply in his open palm. His hair is sticking to his face and his mouth is slack, trying to ask why but failing miserably.

On slightly shaky knees, Luke turns around, and Brian finally wraps his hand around his dick. It’s slick with Luke’s come already, skin shiny and wet as he begins to fuck between Luke’s cheeks. At first he’s afraid that it might be too much, a step too far, but Luke rocks back with his movements, bracing himself with his hands wound tight around Brian’s ankles, wet, twitching cock hanging limply between his legs. Luke takes this as much in his stride as he does cocks in his hand, and Brian’s convinced more than ever that this isn’t the first time.

“I bet—I bet you love the idea of fucking yourself,” Brian says, quick and delirious, but he’s not really sure who it is he’s talking to. “Or maybe it was me,” he says, and this time it’s to Luke, who’s whining now, one of his hands reaching around to rub teasingly at his own ass. “The next best fucking thing, huh?” he taunts, emphasising the question with a particularly forceful thrust, not really caring if he’s making sense anymore.

“Brian,” Luke cries desperately, his legs slowly spreading wider and wider, unable to keep him up any longer. He’s stopped moving now, body hunched forward and his head hanging low, so Brian grabs his hips and keeps fucking up against his ass, nails biting into his skin. He doesn’t last very much longer, coming with a groan and a weak thrust of his hips, spilling come over the small of Luke’s back.

“Fuck, Luke,” he says, watching his come run slowly from Luke’s back to between his cheeks as the younger boy slumps forward over his legs. Sitting up slightly, he slides his hands to Luke’s waist from his hips, slowly pulling him back towards his chest. He rolls them over onto their sides before Luke can crush him beneath his deadweight, tucking himself up behind Luke like before. He presses a kiss into the damp mess of Luke’s hair.

“Brian?” Luke says, his voice quiet and small. Brian hums, lifting a hand to trace his fingers along the curve of Luke’s shoulder. “Do you want me to go?”

Brian stiffens and frowns, wondering if there’s a part of Luke that thinks he wants that. “No, stay here,” he says, moving his hand from Luke’s shoulder and curling his arm over Luke’s waist.

*

When Brian wakes up the next morning, he’s gross and alone, his head pounding like Jess has been using it as a kick drum while he slept. Jesse is in the bed across the room, completely encased in blankets but snoring so loud that he’s unmistakable there. Brian blinks dumbly at him for a moment, thoughts sluggish and slow like his body, but soon they begin to catch up with each other and Brian is left with the battering memories of the night before.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, stumbling in and out of a shower and getting dressed, trying not to wake Jesse up as he goes. He lurches out of the room and into the open, quiet emptiness of the suit, only the quiet, constant hum of the electrics disturbing the screeching going on inside his head.

He thinks about going to Luke’s room. He really does think about it—but in the end he doesn’t need to. He finds Luke sitting out on the veranda, legs crossed and pulled close to his chest as he looks out on Las Vegas. They’re leaving today—or at least, that’s the plan, because Brian can’t seem to book a flight to San Francisco for love nor money.

So as not to startle him, Brian moves slowly, pulling open the door to the veranda and shutting it behind him gently. If Luke hears him, he doesn’t react. He just sits there, looking forward, sunglasses protecting him for the early morning rays. It’s ridiculously early, Brian has noticed on his travels, not yet even nine o’clock in the morning. He has his own sunglasses with him, in his hands, fiddling with them has he hovers from a distance, his reflection watery in the glass banister.

“Hi,” he says, wincing at how awkward it sounds.

He supposes that’s what happens when you sleep with your friends; things get awkward.

Luke turns his head to the side, catching Brian in his peripheral vision. “Hey,” he says. “You’re up early.”

Brian puts on his sunglasses and tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans as he saunters closer to Luke, eventually coming to a stop by his side. He stares out at the view, turning his head all the way from right to left, drinking it all in. Vegas on a Monday morning is quite a bizarre sceptical, but Brian likes it—maybe not enough to come again, though. He’s had a little too much Vegas for this lifetime.

“So,” Brian begins, leaning his forearms on the banister. “When are you heading back?”

“Flight’s at one,” Luke answers courtly, shifting on his bum a little. Brian doesn’t look down, but he can feel Luke looking at him. “Need to get back to Petunia, y’know,” he adds, scratching at his stubble and the world around them is so quiet that Brian hears it.

Brian nods, mind drawing a blank as to where to go from here. There isn’t anywhere to go, he thinks, looking down at the streets below, people moving around like tiny insects. He could talk about it, could bring it up, but he doesn’t really want to. It doesn’t seem the right time or place, but he knows it’s only going to get worse if he doesn’t. In one motion, he sits himself down on the floor with Luke. He turns to him, eyes flitting from Luke’s mouth to his shoulder to the way his hair is pulled back into a bun. In the cold light of day, it is startling how much they look like each other, and Brian wonders what the chances of that were.

“I liked it,” Luke says out of the blue, mouth moving around his words like he’s not sure of them even as they leave his mouth. “What we did last night,” he clarifies, voice gradually getting smaller and smaller. “I really liked it.” He swallows hard before looking at Brian, and even through the lenses of his sunglasses Brian can see his eyes blown wide and weary, like it’s this very thought that’s been keeping him up all night.

“Enough to do it again?” Brian asks.

“Maybe,” Luke says quietly. “If we did, would you kiss me?” he asks, eyes dropping shyly.

“I could kiss you now,” Brian blurts out. Beside him, Luke looks almost taken aback. “If you wanted. It’ll be like when you kiss your mirror,” he adds, really just wanting to make Luke smile before he leans in, pressing a firm kiss to his lips, accidentally almost knocking the sunglasses off Luke’s face. “Shit, sorry,” he babbles, hands skirting around Luke’s face to fix them.

“You’re so much smoother when you’re drunk,” Luke brays with an awkward little snort.

“Story of my fucking life,” Brian mutters and jostles Luke with his shoulder when he laughs even harder at that. “Hey, fuck you, Hemmings,” Brian says before he too dissolves into loud, obnoxious laughter, only quietening down when Luke shushes him, throwing a casual thumb over his shoulder. No doubt someone will hear them, and hell hath no fury like a hungover man or woman unceremoniously woken up at nine o’clock in the morning. “So, are you, um, still coming to my show Wednesday night?” he asks tentatively after a lull in conversation.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Luke asks back, skimming his thumb over Brian’s bare knee through a hole in his jeans.

“I don’t know,” Brian says to himself, then smiles. “First one you won’t need my ID to get in.”

“What a milestone,” Luke bites sarcastically, earning him a sharp jab the ribs. Luke whines indignantly, smacking Brian back playfully over the back of the head. “I should—I should go pack, actually. And check if Ashton and Calum followed through with that dare.”

“What dare?” Brian asks, tilting his head up as he watches Luke get to his feet, laborious and slow. “Michael dare them to get married or something?”

“Was more of a renewing of vows,” Luke says with a laugh, and Brian can only shake his head as he turns back to the view. Las Vegas, eh?

*

As has become custom, they finish with _Life is a Highway_.

Brian goes typically hard, revelling in the joy that comes with the crowd responding so positively to his favourite song. It’s been a good show overall, culminating in this moment, Matt breaking all sorts of health and safety regulations as he climbs up on a ledge to play a solo and Brian throwing out some of his best moves, constrained slightly by the tiny porch stage. He’s barely above the crowd, but he feels ten feet tall, and he lifts even higher when he thrusts the microphone in the direction of the crowd for them to sing the chorus, catching Luke’s eye from all the way across the patio.

Like all the other shows he’s been to, Luke is discreet, hanging back with a drink in his hand. Mitchy bobs around beside him, in and out of view through the crowd, but mostly Brian’s eyes stay fixed on Luke, watching the slight jerk of his head as he sings along, blond hair especially wild and fluffy-looking in the gentle summer night breeze.

He’s the first person Brian seeks out when the set is finished, cutting through the dwindling crowd and stopping short just in front of him where he stands by the bar. It’s only then that Brian notices the two small shot glasses in either of Luke’s hands. Luke stares down at him, grin Cheshire cat-wide, and hands him over one of the glasses.

“Trying to finish what you started in Vegas?” Brian asks, eyebrows quirked up, to which Luke just shrugs.

**Author's Note:**

> well then. that was that. i'm on tumblr [here](https://partycake.tumblr.com/) if you want to say hi and if you want to share this fic, it's [here](https://partycake.tumblr.com/post/163649325624/theres-a-reflection-i-want-you-to-see-brianluke).


End file.
